“You okay?” she asks, voice soft, curious—those sea-glass eyes searching mine.
“Fine,” I lie.
“You look tense.”
“All good,” I say, though my throat is too tight for truth.
“Mmm.” She dismounts, landing lightly. “Beautiful work, Cal.”
“Thanks.” I swallow. “So. Daytona 765. You ride it?”
“I ride anything with two wheels,” she replies, leaning against the bench.
A hush falls, thick with everything left unsaid. The sun has slipped below the horizon, leaving us in the glow of tool-lamps and restless shadows.
“Parker,” Jace says finally, voice low.
She turns to face all three of us, expression steeled. “Tonight,” she breathes. “Like we planned.”
Silas steps forward, voice rough. “The house is empty. No distractions.”
“Talk,” she finishes, shoulders squared.
Her sea-glass eyes lock onto each of ours—fear and resolve shimmering in equal measure. Then she inhales and exhales, as though bracing for a storm.
“So,” she says, meeting my eyes last. “Let’s talk.”
28
PARKER
Cal’s hand falls away from the control panel, and the heavy bay door rumbles shut, the metal panels sliding along their tracks with a hiss of hydraulics that echoes like a final pronouncement. The sound reverberates through the concrete walls, sealing us in with a certainty that sends a shiver down my spine. Jace leans against his midnight-black R1M, the polished fairings catching the harsh glow of the overhead fluorescents. His arms are crossed over the sculpted tank, shoulders relaxed but every muscle taut, as if he’s waiting for me to make the next move. Silas straightens from his crouch beside the Hayabusa—its sleek curves gleaming in the stark light—running a hand through his dark hair. Cal pads across the oil-stained floor to the workbench, resting his back against the scarred wood and dented metal vise.
I stand in the center of them, chest tight. The garage feels like a cage, but not one meant for punishment—more like a display case, every beam of light exposing me. Harsh shadows slant across the walls, turning the row of tools into sinister silhouettes. There is no corner here dark enough to hide in.
“Six years ago,” Jace says finally, his voice measured and even, the kind of control he always wears like armor.
My heart stutters against my ribs. “Six years ago.”
I close my eyes, and I’m back at the joint bachelor/bachelorette party, the cavernous hall pulsing with red and gold lanterns and the low thrum of bass. I remember the way the stage lights cut through the haze, bathing me in their heat as I danced—bare feet slipping across the varnished wood, every bead of sweat glinting. I felt their gazes on me: Silas’s hand curling at my waist, Jace’s voice—deep and intimate—whispering in my ear, Cal’s breath hot against my nape as he guided my hips. In the private booth later, the plush velvet seat pressed cool against my bare thighs as they told me, in voices husky with want, that they didn’t need me to choose. They wanted me entirely.
“I came to the penthouse the night the wedding ended,” I whisper, taste of cool metal on my tongue as I remember the malfunctioning elevator—how its fluorescent lights flickered and the cables groaned, sending me trembling through the shafts. “The doors opened, and there you were. I—I didn’t run.”
Jace’s steel-blue eyes capture mine through the shadows. “You didn’t run. You let us surround you. Let us tell you what we wanted.”
I see it all again—Silas’s broad chest pressing into mine, Jace’s fingers tight around my throat, Cal at my side whispering how beautiful I was. I remember their reverent desperation, how each kiss felt like worship.
“You told us you wanted us,” Jace says. “All of us. You said yes.”
“I did.” My voice cracks like ice. “I do.”
Cal shifts on the workbench, the scent of grease and cedar wood dust rising with him. “And we showed you what that meant. What it could mean to belong to all three of us.”
I taste the memory: Jace’s lips—insistent, claiming—Cal’s trembling hands undressing me, whispering prayers of beauty against my skin, Silas’s rough voice murmuring “firefly” as his fingertips traced patterns of heat down my spine. They worshipped me with every soft, brutal touch.
“And then you left,” Silas says quietly, stepping closer, his storm-gray eyes unreadable.
“I panicked.” The words catch in my throat, tears stinging as they pool. “I woke up between you and Jace, and Cal was beside us, and I thought—I thought you’d tear each other apart.” I pull my arms around myself as though I can compress the memories back into stillness. “You’re practically brothers to one another. Family. What we did that night—it was beautiful but impossible. I couldn’t be what destroyed you.”
